


Nightmares

by falsteloj



Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Best Friends, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Friendship, Gen, High School, M/M, Teen Angst, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin is not as accepting as Vlad had hoped he would be.</p><p>(I have a ton more YD stuff - you can find story summaries, etc, by clicking <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/512861/chapters/27201609">HERE</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

"Robin, I love you." Too intense.  
  
"Robin, I like you." Too ambiguous.  
  
"Robin, I really like you." Too lame.  
  
"Rob, today's your lucky day." Vlad grinned and pointed at his reflection. He shook his head. Too likely to result in a broken nose.  
  
Vlad slumped miserably to sit on the end of his bed, resting his chin in his hands. Robin would be here any minute and he was still no closer to deciding how he should tell him. He wasn't even certain he would tell him.  
  
Robin slept over every Friday night. And every Friday Vlad spent all day working up the courage to tell Robin, practicing in front of his mirror and daydreaming about the response he might get if the world flipped its axis and Robin felt the same way.  
  
Invariably the right moment never seemed to present itself and, come his customary Saturday sleepover at the Branaghs, Vlad would be busy trying to convince himself that Robin didn't need to know. Surely it was better for Robin to be blissfully ignorant, and still his friend, than know and hate him?  
  
He heard Ingrid yelling for Renfield downstairs, meaning Robin must be at the door. Vlad stood, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He could do this.

* * *

"Who would you rather find in your bed? The blonde, or the redhead?" Robin asked him, propped up on his elbows on the bed next to him, grinning mischievously.

Vlad shrugged uncomfortably. Neither of them were doing anything for him, not with Robin pressed close against his side anyway. It was the only thing making the stupid film – Vampire Vixens vs. The Wolfman – even halfway bearable. Vlad wondered what Robin would say if he knew.  
  
"Ohhh." Robin groaned as the women on screen started kissing, the wolfman looking on bemused. "It'd 'ave to be both."  
  
Robin must have seen his scowl because he flung an arm round his shoulders and said, "Aw, don't worry, Vlad. We could share. Though, I 'ave to warn you, once they've had me you might be a bit of a let down." Robin kept a straight face for about ten seconds before bursting into giggles.  
  
Robin was grinning expectantly at him and Vlad felt his heart thudding in his chest. This was his chance, right now. Because if Robin thought he was disgusting then he wouldn't wrap himself around him like this, would he? Vlad swallowed and chose his next words carefully, "They probably wouldn't notice either of us, they'd prefer each other." He gestured at the screen.  
  
"Nah, that's just what girls want you to think." Robin removed his arm to cram more sweets into his mouth. "Playing hard to get," he garbled out between chewing. He smirked up at Vlad, "Don't tell me, you'd rather just 'ave me all to yourself."  
  
That had to mean something, didn't it? What if Robin liked him too and was too afraid to tell him? What if this was all it took for Robin to be with him? Vlad laid a hand on Robin's arm, feeling sick and shaky as he spoke quietly, "Yeah, I would."  
  
Robin laughed. "Sorry Vlad, but I don't think something this amazingly fit," he pointed at himself, "can be pinned down by one person."  
  
Vlad had to look away. He knew that if he laughed, acted like it was all a joke, then everything would be okay. But he just couldn't.  
  
"You were serious, weren't you?" Robin said quietly. Vlad turned back to look at him to see his face tense and pale.  
  
'Lie!' his common sense screamed at him even as he felt himself nodding, numbly.  
  
Robin grimaced and Vlad instantly regretted it. The other boy scooted back, stopping only when he was on his feet and pressed against the window sill. "I don't like you like that, Vlad. I'm sorry, but I don't." Robin was shaking his head, his tone harsh and adamant, "I never will."  
  
"Right," Vlad forced out, biting his lip and nodding stupidly, desperately trying not to cry or argue or do anything else that would freak Robin out even more. Why had he thought that telling him could end any differently?  
  
Vlad risked a glance at Robin to see indecision written clear across his expressive face. Whatever Robin saw in his own face was enough to force the decision because he pushed away from the wall and sat back down, albeit cautiously and ramrod straight, like he might have to run for his life at any given moment. "I'm still your friend though."  
  
Vlad shrugged, not trusting himself to be able to speak without making everything 500 times worse.  
  
Robin sighed, "I think I should go home." He got up and gathered his stuff together, hauling his backpack over one shoulder. He hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something. In the end he just shook his head and disappeared down the staircase.  
  
Vlad kept it together until Robin was safely down the stairs, until he heard the door slam, then he buried his face in his pillow and sobbed.

What had he been thinking!

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it, Robin?" Mrs. Branagh laid a hand on her son's arm, smiling her most reassuring smile. Whatever the two had argued about, it must have been pretty serious for Robin to have come slamming back through the front door at two in the morning. Normally they didn't see him until teatime Saturday, and then it was with Vlad in tow.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Robin spat back, glowering at his breakfast. This was worse than she had first thought.  
  
"I know," said Paul round a mouthful of bacon and eggs, "you suggested a visit to that forest." He nudged Ian. "And he turned you down."  
  
"Haha, yeah," Ian laughed, "even Vladdo can do better than you, freak-boy."  
  
Paul put on his best Blind Date voice, "And tonight Cilla, we have a weirdo-goth child who doesn't wash."  
  
Robin rubbed a hand across the back of his neck self-consciously.  
  
"Boys!" Mrs. Branagh scolded. "Vlad would be very lucky to have Robin. Wouldn't he Graham?"  
  
"Hmm?" Mr. Branagh asked, putting down the morning edition of the Western Mail. "Oh, yes, it'd be like he'd been smiled upon by the Gods themselves."  
  
Robin scowled at his dad's sarcastic tone. "Actually it was  _Vlad_  who wanted  _me_. So there!"  
  
"I knew it!" Ian grinned widely at Paul, "I think that's ten pounds you owe me."  
  
"Er, no." said Paul, waving an egg laden fork around. "The terms were clear, one of them owns up and then they get together. I don't see any sign of loverboy."  
  
Ian frowned and looked back at Robin. "What, aren't you with Vlad then?"  
  
"No!" Robin yelled, a horrified expression across his face. He scraped his chair back and got to his feet. "I'm not gay!"  
  
Mrs. Branagh winced as he stormed from the room, stomping up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door and cranking up his hi-fi as loud as it would go.  
  
Paul caught her eye and shook his head. "Denial."

* * *

Upstairs, in his bedroom Robin was busy tearing all the pictures of Vlad – vampire and otherwise - down off his wall. Was it any wonder that Vlad was declaring his undying love when he was giving him the same treatment Chloe gave that idiot out of that stupid film she liked so much?

He came to a photograph of Vlad with his arm wrapped round his shoulders, the pair of them grinning up at the camera. Robin remembered it being taken, the previous summer at the twins' birthday barbecue. Vlad had told him that he was the best friend anyone could have.  
  
Robin sneered at it and ripped it clear in half.  
  
Vlad had been lying. As he'd walked back from the castle in the cold night air Robin had come to the conclusion that their whole friendship was a lie. He'd done the decent thing, told Vlad that he would still be his friend. And what had Vlad done? Sat there and shrugged in disappointment, like the only reason he had ever hung round with him in the first place was the hope of getting his end away.  
  
He felt so angry he could scream.  
  
He kicked at his wardrobe door, wincing at the pain that spread through his foot. Thinking better of another kick he picked up the mirror on his desk instead. Robin fingered the ornate scroll work around the edge, thinking back to the Saturday morning when he and Vlad had found it amongst the unpacked boxes in the castle attic. Vlad had laughed and said he could have it since he was so vain. He'd been upset - he wasn't that vain - but Vlad had smiled at him and said that it didn't matter, because he liked him just as he was, faults and all.  
  
Robin hurled the mirror at the wall, feeling like it was more than cold glass shattering as shards flew everywhere.  
  
Vlad had been lying. Again. He only liked him for who he wanted him to be.

* * *

"Did you feel that?"

Renfield simpered, dusting the back of the Count's throne reverently. "What Master?"  
  
"That," the Count waved a hand, "chill?"  
  
"It comes with being dead, bat-brain," Ingrid sneered.  
  
"I wasn't speaking to you, you useless girl. I was speaking to my son and heir."  
  
Vlad shrugged. He couldn't really feel anything beyond the crushing despair of Robin being angry with him.  
  
"Why are you here anyway?" Ingrid swatted Vlad over the head with a rolled up copy of Gothmopolitan as she walked pass. "Don't you normally go and perv on Branagh about now?"  
  
"I don't perv on him!"  
  
"Really? So this new obsession with the leisure centre, totally innocent, is it?"  
  
Vlad blushed. "Yes."  
  
Ingrid bent down so she was scowling into his face. "You can't even swim, maggot breath."  
  
"I'm learning!"  
  
"Why, so Branagh won't have any way of escaping from you!"  
  
"Children!" The Count yelled, "Shut up!"  
  
They fell silent.  
  
"That's better. I could hardly hear myself think about how attractive I am." The Count struck a pose.  
  
Ingrid glowered and stormed from the room. Vlad pulled a face; he had to get out of there.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Vlad was stood on the Branagh's doorstep, twisting the DVD case in his hands agitatedly, trying to work up the courage to ring the door bell. He knew Robin was in; he had been able to hear Slipknot blaring from the top of the street. He sucked in a calming breath. He was going to give Robin  _Vampire Vixens_  back, and then he was going to suggest they just pretend last night never happened. And, if Robin still didn't want to speak to him, well, he didn't really like that option and was trying hard not to dwell on it.

He pressed the bell and the door was wrenched open almost instantly. Ian looked him up and down before yelling,  
  
"Robin! Your boyfriend's here!"  
  
"Ian!" Mrs. Branagh scolded, appearing in the hallway behind her son.  
  
"Oh yeah, sorry." Ian yelled again, "Robin, your soon-to-be boyfriend's here!"  
  
Vlad felt his blood run cold. On a normal day he would laugh it off and joke about it with Robin. Once, as a joke, Robin had even changed his FaceSpace status to read that they were married. But, today wasn't a normal day, and Vlad didn't think that Robin would ever want to joke about something like that again.  
  
"Ignore him." Mrs. Branagh ushered Vlad inside, shutting the front door behind him. "Robin's up in his room." Vlad nodded and had just started up the stairs when Mrs. Branagh called him again, "Oh, and Vlad." He turned to look at her. "I just wanted to say that I think you were very brave to tell Robin."  
  
Vlad choked in shock. Mrs. Branagh pulled him into a quick hug. "Robin will be alright about it, it was just a shock for him, that's all. Now," she smiled at him, "why don't you go upstairs and try and get him to turn that racket down."

Vlad managed a watery smile and did as he was told.

"Robin?" Vlad knocked at his bedroom door. "Robin!" He hesitated for a moment; on the one hand, Robin probably couldn't hear him over the cries of 'Spit It Out'. But, on the other, he probably wouldn't appreciate him just barging in either.

The decision was made for him when Robin yanked the door open, "I told you, I'm not turning it down!" He blinked in shock. "Oh, Vlad."  
  
Vlad shifted awkwardly, "I brought your film back." He held the DVD out like a peace offering.  
  
Robin stared at him for a long moment before taking the film. "Right. Thanks. I suppose you'd better come in." Vlad stepped inside and gawped at the mess everywhere. He took another step and felt something crunching underfoot. A glance down revealed it to be shards of glass. He looked at it more closely and felt sick.  
  
It was the mirror he had given Robin. The mirror Robin had found behind a stack of back-copies of The Transylvania Times, the mirror he had proceeded to dust off and fuss with his hair in it as if it were a task of life and death importance. Vlad had watched – thinking that if he were Robin he'd spend all day in front of a mirror too – and felt his chest constrict with realization.  
  
It was a courtship mirror.  
  
You were supposed to give it to your intended, to prove their looks were not the only thing you valued about them. A true vampire wouldn't be able to see anything in it, after all. His dad had scoffed as he explained the concept to him back in Transylvania, - 'It's only for ugly vampires, Vladimir.' - as usual, missing the point. Vlad had felt like he was handing his heart over on a platter when he'd given it to Robin.  
  
And now, well, now both were lying in pieces all over Robin's bedroom floor.  
  
Vlad sank down onto the edge of Robin's bed without being asked. He had a feeling it was either that or collapse on it. His hand fell on some crumpled paper and he unfolded it carefully, half dreading what he might see. It was a photo of him, beaming up at the camera, his arm wrapped around Robin. At least, it had been wrapped around Robin, that half of the photo was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Do," Vlad looked up at Robin, wishing his vision wasn't swimming with unshed tears, "you really hate me this much?"

"It's not –" Robin balled his fists in frustration, "I don't hate you Vlad. But, right now, I don't like you very much either." He took the torn photograph from Vlad's hands and grimaced at it. "You're not who I thought you were."  
  
"Maybe," Vlad flung his arms out, face twisting in disbelief, "you're not who I thought you were! I'm no different today to yesterday!"  
  
"No, Vlad, you're right." Vlad's angry tone was just making him madder. "You were a liar then, and you're a liar now!"  
  
"What," Vlad asked coldly, "is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Robin shook his head. Vlad just didn't get it, couldn't see how much he'd hurt him. "You're supposed to be my friend, my best friend! I trusted you! And all the time," Robin screwed up the photo again and threw it, feeling like he'd rather punch something, "You just wanted me to be someone else."  
  
Vlad was on his feet in an instant, pulling himself to his full height. "What, you mean like you're asking me to be right now?" Vlad was in his personal space now, yelling into his face. "Do you think I wanted to feel like this about you? Do you think I would  _choose_  to fall for someone as weird, as immature, as selfish as you?"  
  
Before he even had time to think about it, his fist had connected with Vlad's jaw. Vlad looked at him wide-eyed for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on and, then, he was launching himself at him, toppling them both to the floor.

* * *

"Right, that's it." Mr. Branagh flung his pen down on to the kitchen table as a thud from the room above jostled the light fitting. "I've had just about as much as I'm going to take."

"Graham," Mrs. Branagh put a hand on his arm, "give them some space, they've got a lot to sort out."  
  
"No, I'm sorry," Mr. Branagh shook his head, looking pointedly at the teaspoon vibrating across the draining board in time to the pounding of drums and screams of profanity coming from Robin's bedroom, "enough's enough."  
  
"Mum," Chloe sighed, "Dad's right. Robin's music is rubbish."  
  
Mr. Branagh smirked at his wife as he left the room, at least one of his children were on his side.

* * *

Robin flailed desperately, pushing at Vlad's shoulders. But, the other boy was heavier than he looked and he couldn't shift him. Even worse was the fact that every time he moved he could feel glass scraping at his skin, working its way through the thin material of his T-shirt.

"Get off me, Vlad." He put as much force behind the words as he could, launching into another round of squirming and kicking in an attempt to dislodge him. Vlad responded by pushing him down roughly by his shoulders, his breathing harsh and fast against Robin's cheek.  
  
His own breath was coming in laboured pants, the weight crushing onto his chest doing nothing to help the situation. He was forced to stop fighting against Vlad, letting his head fall back against the carpet to concentrate on dragging in lungfuls of air. The weight eased a little as Vlad moved one hand to the carpet to support himself, the other hovering hesitantly before brushing against his cheek.  
  
" _Robin_."  
  
Robin looked up at Vlad in sudden horror, very aware of the fact that Vlad was straddling him. Surely Vlad wouldn't? Even as he thought it, Vlad's eyes were sliding shut, his head lowering…  
  
At that moment his bedroom door crashed against the wall, his dad's irate cry of "Robin turn that God awful racket –" trailing away as he took in the sight before him. Robin closed his eyes thankfully, he'd never been so happy – and he doubted he'd ever be this happy again – to see his father.  
  
"Dad, tell him to get off me!"

* * *

"He had him pinned to the floor!"

"Is this true, Vlad? Were you really trying to force the peasant against his will?"  
  
Vlad nodded in shame, not daring to look up. Robin's look of disgust as Mr. Branagh had pulled him off of him would, he was sure, be forever etched in his mind.  
  
"Oh, Vlad, my boy!" The Count cupped Vlad's chin, beaming with happiness. "I'm so proud of you!" He clicked his fingers, "Renfield! Start preparing a feat. This calls for a celebration."  
  
Vlad glanced up to see matching expressions of slack-jawed shock on the twins' and Mr. Branagh's faces. Robin's expression was, for once, unreadable. He had no idea how he was going to fix this. And to think, this morning, he'd believed he couldn't make things any worse.  
  
"Right, well," Mr. Branagh stuttered, pulling himself together. "That's that then. Vlad," Vlad forced his self to make eye contact out of politeness, "I never want to see you at our house again. Do you understand me?" He turned for the doorway before thinking better of it. "And, I'm warning you, leave Robin alone. If you don't, it'll be a police matter next time."  
  
With that all four of them left, the castle door slamming behind them. Vlad slumped faintly into the nearest chair. He wished he had never been born.

* * *

"This is a momentous day, Vlad. You'll remember it for the rest of your unlife."

Vlad struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat; he didn't doubt it for a moment. He'd remember this as the day he had lost his best – his only – friend to his own total stupidity.  
  
Ingrid scoffed, "What, the day he didn't manage to snog Branagh?" She smirked at Vlad, "Even I've done better than that. You know what," she leant in closer to hiss in his ear, "he wasn't that bad. Shame you'll never find out, isn't it?"  
  
Vlad tightened his grip on his cutlery, fighting the urge to swing for her. Violence never solved anything; didn't today just prove that beyond all doubt?  
  
"Yes, well," The Count grimaced, "it's the intent, isn't it? Ha," he clapped his hands together, "your grandparents will be forced to eat their words when they get here tomorrow. As if I, the Prince of Darkness, could raise a Wimpire."  
  
"What!" Vlad asked in horror. The last thing he needed was Granny Westenra around, berating him for his 'disgusting' feelings.  
  
"I know," The Count shook his head incredulously, "my parenting skills are second to none." The Count paused for a moment to admire his recently sharpened nails. Vlad and Ingrid, taking this as a cue that dinner was over, both got to their feet. The Count waited until they were at the foot of the stairs before calling out. "Oh, and Ingrid. They'll be wanting your crypt. I've already taken the liberty of getting Renfield to move your coffin next to the cesspit. Sweet dreams!"  
  
Vlad took one look at the murderous look on Ingrid's face before escaping to his bedroom. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Later, after the screaming and thumping from downstairs had finally died down, Vlad lay awake in the darkness of his bedroom. He couldn't sleep. Every time he shut his eyes he could see Robin sneering up at him, yelling at him to get off him. Every time he moved pain shot through his chest – Renfield's cooking never did agree with him.

Still, Vlad thought, it was rather fitting that he be in agony with heartburn. It was his stupid heart that had got him into this mess; it deserved to suffer. He thought about what he'd be doing right now if he hadn't told Robin how he felt.  
  
They would have gone swimming in the afternoon. He hadn't been lying to Ingrid; Robin was teaching him how to swim. If it also meant that he got to spend an hour ogling Robin's bare chest, have Robin's hands all over him as helped him stay buoyant, watch him shower and change afterwards… well, it was nothing but a happy coincidence.  
  
After swimming they would have gone back to Robin's and messed about on the computer. At least Robin would have, uploading yet more pictures to FaceSpace and excitedly telling him about which girl (supposedly) thought he was hot that week. Eventually he'd get bored – or run out of half plausible lies, it always seemed a 50-50 scenario to Vlad – and they'd go up to Robin's room to talk and watch more of Robin's seemingly never-ending supply of horror films.  
  
Vlad glanced at his wristwatch; 1:00am. Right now they would have just been sat on Robin's bed, talking. Sometimes, they'd fall asleep like that and he'd wake up with his face pressed to Robin's shoulder, Robin's arm flung heavily over him. Sometimes, he just pretended to be asleep, in the hope Robin wouldn't shove him to the floor and a night alone in his sleeping bag.  
  
Vlad shut his eyes at the wave of guilt that washed over him. Maybe Robin was right; he had abused his trust. And, what had he done today? Reassure Robin that he meant everything to him and he'd never do anything Robin didn't want? No, of course not. He'd stood there and insulted him, done his best to give him a black eye, and then… Then he had just ruined everything.  
  
The memory of Robin's head falling back, exposing the pale column of his throat flashed across his senses. The primal part of his brain, the part that always seemed to know if the sun was up, had all but taken over, screaming at him that Robin was submitting, that he should just take… If Mr. Branagh hadn't walked in on them Vlad wasn't sure how far he would have gone.  
  
Clutching his duvet tighter Vlad made a silent vow to make it up to Robin. He had to, life without the other boy just wouldn't be worth living...

* * *

"I still say that it was very out of character for Vlad."

"In what way?" Asked Paul, reaching up to get a box of cereal from the top of the supermarket shelf for his mother, "He's always been a proper weirdo."  
  
Vlad heard the exchange and stopped dead, watching for them anxiously from the end of the aisle. Sure enough, the two came into view, Robin trailing miserably behind them.  
  
"Robin," Mrs. Branagh's tone was artificially bright and Vlad felt, if it were possible, even guiltier, "do you want some chocolate? It always cheers me up."  
  
"Mam!" Paul protested. "He shouldn't eat as much as he does. Look at him,"  
  
Vlad peered, as discreetly as possible, over the top of a basket full of own-brand biscuits. Robin looked as perfect as he always did.  
  
Paul went on, "He's nothing but podge now."  
  
Robin's face fell and Vlad had a sudden urge to kick Paul. Hard.  
  
"I didn't want any anyway!" Robin turned, leather coat flaring out dramatically, and marched back down the aisle.  
  
"What!?" Paul asked as Mrs. Branagh gave him a disapproving look. "He is!"

* * *

Robin was still in a bad mood an hour later. Vlad knew because he could hear Bullet For My Valentine the moment he turned into Robin's street, busy chewing on his tenth antacid tablet of the day. If Robin were happy, Vlad knew from experience, he'd be blasting it direct through his headphones.

He hesitated outside the Branagh's for a long moment. Mr. Branagh had told him never to darken their doorstep again, but… he needed to apologise to Robin somehow. He looked up at Robin's bedroom window and started in shock: Robin was stood in his window watching him.  
  
He raised his hand lamely, smiling at him in an attempt to appear both sorry and non-threatening.  
  
Robin responded by yanking the curtains shut.

* * *

"No son of mine could be that stupid!"

The Count was yelling as Vlad came through the castle doors. Vlad didn't need to look up to know the Westenra's looks of disapproval were fixed firmly on him.  
  
Ingrid smirked and folded her arms. "Well, here he is. Why don't you ask him?"  
  
Krone pulled out her glasses, all the better to pick out his faults Vlad thought bitterly.  
  
"Still a pathetic excuse for a vampire, isn't he, Dracula? Spare the rod, spoil the child; how many times did we tell you?"  
  
Vlad's placating smile quickly fell. Surely he was too old for one of Granny's infamous birchings by now?  
  
"Did you," Krone was in his face now, peering down her hooked nose at him, "or did you not, give a breather the Dracule mirror?" Her tone was menacing, "Don't even think about lying to me!"  
  
"Well," Vlad squirmed under her gaze, "nobody wanted it, so..."  
  
"This is just too brilliant." Ingrid was positively beaming, "All that time I wasted thinking up ways to kill you; and you've just done it for me."  
  
"Wh-what?"  
  
"Have you never read anything about vampire lore?" Ingrid sneered at him. "When you gave that mirror to Branagh, you literally gave him your heart. And," she grinned again, "From the way you've been clutching at your chest all morning, I'm guessing that yesterday he smashed them both to smithereens."  
  
"I've just got heartburn!" As he said it Vlad was forced to press his hand against his chest again, trying to ease the pain. He'd gotten through another half a packet of tablets on the way back from the Branagh's alone.  
  
"Heartburn!" Krone cackled. "I've heard it all now." Fixing him with her beady gaze once more her tone fell serious. "Boy, this time next week you'll be dust!"

* * *

* * *

"Robin, I need to talk to you."  
  
"And I need you to get out of my face. Leave me alone Vlad!"  
  
Robin shook his head and concentrated on undoing his shirt buttons; old Jenkins would have him in detention for a fortnight if he wasn't changed by the time he emerged from his office.  
  
"Please, Robin, it's important. I'm dying!"  
  
"Yeah, good one, Vlad." Robin scowled at him; Vlad must think he was stupid. "Of course you're dying, you're a vampire."  
  
"No, you don't understand! I –"  
  
"Count," Richard Price appeared in front of them and Robin swallowed. Before Vlad had arrived in Stokely there hadn't been a day go by where Price hadn't done his best to make his life a misery. Price crowded in closer, threateningly. "He told you to leave him alone." Robin gawped at the taller boy in shock. This was definitely a new thing.  
  
"Lads!" Mr. Jenkin's voice sounded over the chatter of the changing room, silence quickly descending, "Why aren't you changed!"  
  
Robin looked around the room and was shocked to realize that he was the only person who had made any attempt to get into his games kit.  
  
"We ain't," Price spat, glaring at Vlad, "getting changed with  _him_  in here."  
  
"Yeah Sir," Drew Davis added, jabbing a finger at Vlad, "He's sick in the head! Ain't that right, Branagh?"  
  
Robin looked from Vlad to Davis and back again with wide eyes. It didn't surprise him that he and Price knew: Ian and Paul had had football practice with them the night before. What surprised him was that they seemed to be on his side.  
  
Price growled impatiently, "Isn't he Branagh?"  
  
Vlad was looking up at him with the same half-terrified, half-trusting look he had whenever they got out of Vlad's depth at the swimming pool. It was making it hard for Robin to agree with the others, like he knew he should. He sighed, he just couldn't do it.  
  
He braced himself for the abuse he knew was about to come his way and turned to face Mr. Jenkins, "No, he's not."

* * *

Robin sped up and tried to avoid Vlad who, quick glances over his shoulder told him, was gaining on him quickly. He had put his own uniform back on in record time. Vlad had apparently given up and was still wearing his muddy rugby shirt. Robin pulled a face as Vlad fell into step beside him.

"Thank you, Robin." Vlad gushed, sounding out of breath and clutching at his chest. "For standing up for me."  
  
"Alright, alright," Robin jerked away from Vlad's other hand, "doesn't mean I want you to touch me."  
  
Vlad dropped his hand to his side, face falling. Robin cursed inwardly at the stab of guilt that shot through him.  
  
"Fine." He ground out, stopping abruptly in the middle of the corridor. "What do you need to tell me that's so important?"  
  
Vlad did nothing but blink at him for a moment, before pulling him by his arm into the nearest empty classroom. Thankfully for his newly ruined reputation it wasn't far, not now the bell had sounded for lunch.  
  
Once inside Vlad shut the door and grabbed him by the upper arms. "That mirror I gave you, the one from the attic. Did you use it a lot?"  
  
Robin frowned down at Vlad; maybe the other boy was losing his mind.  
  
"Did you!"  
  
"Keep your hair on." Robin extracted himself from Vlad's grasp and straightened out his jacket. Vlad was freaking him out. "Quite a bit, yeah. Why?"  
  
"Did you ever think about me when you did?"  
  
Robin backed away slightly, how had he never noticed that Vlad had serious problems? "I wasn't using it for anything like that!"  
  
"That's not what I meant!" Vlad's sounded desperate.  
  
"I suppose, I might have done. I dunno." Vlad looked like he might cry and Robin shifted awkwardly. Maybe he was just upset that he'd smashed up a family heirloom. "Look, I'm sorry I broke it, alright? I was just angry."  
  
"It's," Vlad sat down heavily on the nearest desk, his voice so quiet Robin had trouble deciphering the words, "it's not your fault. You didn't know."  
  
"Know what?" Vlad was definitely crying now and Robin stepped closer, hesitating for a moment before laying a hand on his shoulder. "Vlad?"  
  
"It is – it was – a courtship mirror. When I gave it to you," Vlad looked up and fixed him with a gaze so intense Robin had to look away, "it was like I gave you my heart for safe keeping. Every time you used it, it just bound the two more closely together. When you smashed it…"  
  
Vlad trailed off and Robin swallowed deeply before finishing the sentence for him, "I broke your heart."

* * *

"Why did you give it to me, when you knew how dangerous it was!" Robin asked Vlad, struggling not to just fling his arms around Vlad and beg him to tell him it wasn't true. He couldn't be responsible for this. He was just angry with Vlad; he didn't want him to die!

"I didn't know." Vlad shook his head slowly. Robin felt sick as he noticed the way Vlad kept rubbing at his chest and grimacing. "When you give it to another vampire, it's just symbolic. Like a ring or something. But when you give it to a breather," Vlad misinterpreted his look of horrified understanding, "sorry, person, it's different. I don't know how it works exactly; but it's because of your reflection."  
  
Vlad shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Robin could tell he was terrified. Vlad pushed the castle door open and Robin followed him inside, wondering what he would do if they couldn't find a cure, if Vlad really did die. Because of him.  
  
"Vlad," Vlad turned to look up at him, his skin even paler than usual, the dark smudges under his eyes making him look ill and vulnerable. Robin drew in a shaky breath, "If there's any way to stop this happening, any way at all, we'll find it. I'll do anything. You're my best friend Vlad, you always will be."

* * *

* * *

"You're my best friend, Vlad. You always will be."

"Aw, how touching." Ingrid mocked, arms folded across her chest. "I'll be sure to scoop his ashes up and put him in a biscuit tin or something for you, Branagh, then you can carry him round with you forever and ever and ever." She finished in her best baby voice.  
  
Robin span round and yelled at her, "How can you stand there and joke about it! Vlad's dying!"  
  
"And whose fault is that, Branagh?"  
  
"Stop it!" Vlad protested, his heart aching worse than ever at the sight of Robin pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, in an obvious attempt not to cry. "Did you find anything in the library?"  
  
"I did actually." Ingrid heaved a heavy tome from the dining room table. "This says that all you need to do is share," she sneered, "love's true kiss to reverse the curse." She slammed it back down with a resounding thud, "Well, what are you waiting for Branagh!"  
  
Vlad stood frozen to the spot as he waited for Robin's reaction. Robin just stared at him for a long moment, before stepping in and pressing their lips together so quickly he hardly felt it. He then stood back and kept his gaze on the floor, his cheeks flaming red. Vlad pressed his fingertips to his lips and wondered if it could really have worked; his chest still felt like van Helsing was jumping up and down on it.  
  
"What was that? He's had more passionate kisses off Renfield! Do it properly Branagh, or," Ingrid cocked her head, her tone lowering; "do you want him to die?"  
  
This time Vlad didn't have time to think about it before Robin was crushing their mouths together. He brought his arms up and clutched at the back of Robin's leather jacket, pulling him as close as he could. One of Robin's hands came up to tangle in his hair, holding his head in place, the other clinging to his rugby jersey like his life depended on it. Vlad shivered as Robin's tongue swiped against his own; wishing with everything he had that the moment never had to end…  
  
But, too soon, Robin was pulling away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "How will we know if it's worked?"  
  
"Of course it won't have worked!" Ingrid shook her head, smirking, "This," she patted the book on the table, "is a book of fairy tales." She paused to hiss in Robin's ear on her way out of the room, "Look on the bright side, Branagh. You've just given him his dying wish."

* * *

"That was a really horrible trick, Ingrid."

"Thanks, I do try."  
  
Vlad gasped, clinging to the back the nearest chair with one hand and clutching at his chest with the other. It just kept getting worse. Granny Westenra had delighted in telling him that his vital organs were disintegrating from the inside out. He could well believe it.  
  
Ingrid looked at him and sighed. "Look, there is one way to stop it." She held a hand up to get him to keep quiet. "But, I don't think it's going to be an option."  
  
"Tell me!"  
  
Ingrid hesitated for a moment before pulling a small, tatty looking book from her back pocket. "This," she waved it in front of his face, "belonged to Dracule himself." At Vlad's blank look she sighed in exasperation, "Head of the family, founder of the Council, slayer of more slayers than any other vampire; ring any bells? No, of course not, because you're useless. Anyway," she rifled through the book before holding it out to him, holding it open on a badly stained page, "the same thing happened to him."  
  
Vlad took the book and squinted at the cramped, ornate handwriting. He couldn't work out any of it.  
  
"Give it here." Ingrid ground out in obvious frustration, clearing her throat before reading aloud, "In such instances death is inevitable, but for one action. The non-vampire who held the Mirror must be slain by the afflicted."  
  
Vlad looked up at his sister in horror, but she carried on reading.  
  
"The blood shall be drained from the neck in the usual fashion, until the ablouen – that's a breather to you, dimwit - is but moments from death. Then, the chest cavity shall be wrenched open and the still beating heart removed. Aforementioned heart shall be eaten raw, lest its goodness be in any way spoilt and – Vlad!"

* * *

"Does Dad know about that?" Vlad motioned at the book, still feeling weak and more than a little foolish for fainting in front of Ingrid.

Ingrid shook her head. "I don't think so. I haven't shown him it."  
  
"Please don't." Vlad glanced through the crack in the doorway to where Robin was hunched over a huge pile of books, trying to find anything that could help him. "I," his voice caught and he swallowed thickly, "I don't care if I have to die, so long as Robin's okay."  
  
Ingrid gave him a searching look before picking up the book and tearing out the page, screwing it into a ball and throwing it into the fireplace, the page glowing green for a moment before burning away.  
  
She touched a hand to his shoulder and he looked up to see her expression uncharacteristically serious, "I was wrong, Vlad. You're not a Wimpire."

* * *

* * *

"Graham!"

Mr. Branagh sighed, shutting the front door behind him. Couldn't he at least sit down before somebody wanted something? He pushed through into the sitting room, "Yes, love?"  
  
"It's Robin."  
  
"What's he done now?"  
  
"Nothing," the look on Elisabeth's face was doing nothing to convince him, "Honestly. He's up in his room crying his heart out. He won't speak to me."  
  
Mr. Branagh raised an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to do? If he won't speak to you, he certainly won't speak to me." He wished it wasn't true, but, he'd long been forced to accept that Robin would never come to him over Elisabeth.  
  
Mrs. Branagh put a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him, giving him a small smile. "I know he doesn't show it, but he does love you, Graham. And, right now, he needs his dad."

* * *

"Robin?"

Robin heard his dad's voice through his bedroom door and buried his face deeper in the pillow. Why couldn't they all just leave him alone! He didn't look up as he heard the door open, nor as he felt the bed dip as Mr. Branagh sat down.  
  
"Come on, Robin." A hand rubbed across his shoulder, "You'll feel better if you talk about it."  
  
At that Robin sat up, jerking away from the hand. "No, I won't. It's all my fault!" He turned away so his dad couldn't see his face. He had wanted to stay at the castle and carry on searching the library but Vlad had told him to go home, saying there was nothing more he could do. He had known from the somber looks on both Ingrid's and the Count's faces that Vlad was telling the truth.  
  
He had killed his best friend.  
  
"Oh, Robin." Mr. Branagh put an arm round his shoulder and pulled him closer. Robin struggled for a moment before giving in and wrapping an arm round his dad's middle and sobbing into his chest like he hadn't since his first trip with the Cub Scouts when he'd fallen from the top of the climbing frame at Kenwood Adventure Centre.  
  
"Is this about Vlad?"  
  
Robin nodded, still sniveling into his dad's Scout Leader shirt. He pulled back a little, faintly embarrassed by his own behaviour. "He's dying."  
  
He felt his dad's grip on his shoulders tighten for a moment, before he spoke, "That's not your fault though, Robin."  
  
He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes, "It is. And I was so horrible to him. When he told me that he - he -"  
  
"You couldn't have known. I'm sure he understands that."  
  
"I kissed him today." Robin glanced up in time to see his dad's look of shock. He suddenly wanted, desperately, to talk about it. To have someone else explain the confusion in his head.  
  
"Ah. Well. How, er, how do you feel about it now?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"Well," Mr. Branagh started awkwardly, a faint blush spreading across his face, "did you do it because you wanted to, because you - you," Mr. Branagh waved a hand agitatedly, "fancy Vlad? Or because you were upset that Vlad is ill?"  
  
Robin frowned. He'd done it because Vlad was dying, obviously. But why did he keep thinking about it?  
  
Mr. Branagh watched the expressions fly across Robin's face as he thought about it and he sighed, ruffling Robin's hair. "I know it's tough, Robin, but you have to be sure. It's not fair to let Vlad think you feel something for him that you don't."  
  
Robin opened his mouth to say more but his name being yelled from downstairs had them both scrambling to their feet.

* * *

"Mr. Count, no! He can't be!" Mrs. Branagh pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

The Count wiped at his eyes nodding. Robin flew down the last few steps, afraid that it had already happened.  
  
Ingrid stepped forward, her face wan and drained. "He's asking for you, Branagh."

* * *

* * *

"You said he had a week!" The Count hissed menacingly at Krone. Vlad wished he wouldn't, the noise was making the pain thrum still hotter.

"Thank Branagh. Again." Ingrid shook her head, "He can't keep his ugly mug out of a mirror for more than five minutes."  
  
Vlad squeezed Robin's hand, seemingly half amazed that Robin was willingly touching him. "Don't – don't listen to her."  
  
"It's true," Krone snapped, eyeing Robin up as if he were some disgusting insect, "the more the mirror was used, the faster the curse works."  
  
Vlad could feel Robin's tears splashing onto their conjoined hands and he struggled to sit up. He didn't want to spend his dying moments like this.  
  
"I want to be on my own. With Robin."  
  
His dad stared back at him in shock. "But we're your family. It's his fault this is happening!"  
  
"It's my life!" Vlad grimaced, panting shallowly as another wave of pain crashed over him.  
  
"Right," Ingrid said, assuming control, "Everyone out! Give them a few minutes."

* * *

"Thank you, Robin." At Robin's look of teary confusion Vlad elaborated, "For being my friend."

"Some friend I've been." Robin muttered bitterly, clenching his hand tighter. "You were right, Vlad, all that stuff you said about me being weird and selfish. I don't know why you'd want to be with me."  
  
Robin was looking up at him sincerely, his dark eyes huge in the dim light. Vlad didn't know what to say; how could he explain to Robin something he didn't properly understand himself? He just loved him, simple as that.  
  
Rather than answer he asked a question of his own, "Would you lie with me?" He braced himself for Robin's refusal but Robin crawled onto the bed next to him, uncaring of their proximity, or his sweat drenched sheets.  
  
Vlad thought of the only other time Robin had clambered into his bed; Robin had been sleeping over at the castle and had brought round some particularly horrid films. Vlad had woken up from a vicious nightmare to find Robin peering down at him in concern. Vlad had tried to convince him he was fine but Robin had seen straight through it, flashing him a lop-sided grin before scooting in close under Vlad's duvet.  
  
Robin broke through his thoughts by stroking his thumb across his hand, still clasped in Robin's own. "I won't leave you Vlad. I promise." Vlad buried his head in the taller boy's shoulder,  
  
"Robin, I'm scared."

* * *

"I'm his father!" The Count paced back and forth across main hall, "Why would he want that filthy peasant with him!?"

Mrs. Branagh shook her head at her husband, now was not the time to call Mr. Count on his eccentric ways. Mr. Branagh kept quiet, but shot her a look that told her exactly how he felt about doing so.  
  
"Oh!" The Count sank into his throne, burying his head in his hands, "What will I do without my son and heir?"  
  
"Dad," Ingrid said softly, "You'll still have me."  
  
"Don't make it worse Ingrid!" The Count flung his arms out in grief, "Why couldn't it have been you instead of my beautiful son?"  
  
Ingrid stomped a foot and stormed back up the staircase. Mrs. Branagh laid a hand on her husband's forearm and shook her head again in warning.  
  
The Count started pacing again, stopping in front of Mr. Branagh. "This is all your brat's fault! I should never have allowed Vlad to associate with your kind."  
  
Mr. Branagh was on his feet before his wife could stop him. "Now see here, Count, I understand that this is a difficult time – but you can't go round blaming Robin!"  
  
"Who else am I going to blame! My Vladdy is up there dying of a broken heart!"  
  
Mr. Branagh looked at The Count in shock, unsure of how to respond, when the castle doors flung open, breaking the tense stand-off. Magda stood, silhouetted in the moonlight, a hacksaw clenched tightly in one hand.  
  
"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

* * *

* * *

"Ingrid!" Vlad yelled, fighting to dislodge the hand Krone was using to press him back against his bed, "Stop them!"

Robin was busy struggling against the Count's grip, thrashing and kicking although he already knew it was useless. The Count caught his gaze and he found himself unable to move, in fact, he had a feeling that it was only the Count's hands on his shoulders keeping his face from colliding with Vlad's bedroom floor.  
  
"Dad, he's already said he won't do it! If he's willing to die for Branagh, let him!"  
  
"What!" The Count rounded on her, one hand keeping Robin pressed against the wall. "You knew there was a way to save him and you kept quiet! Get out of my sight you traitorous girl!"  
  
Ingrid's face twisted in rage and she turned on her heel and slammed from the room. Magda scarcely spared her a glance before advancing, the shiny metal in her hands glinting in the candlelight; Robin knew that if The Count hadn't rendered him immobile he'd be shaking with fear.  
  
She twisted a hand into his hair, pulling his head back, and then placed the edge of the blade against his throat.  
  
"Vlad," The Count spoke as it broke skin, "You'll thank us for this later."

* * *

"No!"

Mr. Branagh tried once more to push past Renfield as Vlad's screaming reverberated through the castle.  
  
"Ah, you can't go up there. Master's orders."  
  
"Get out of my way! My son's up there!"  
  
Ingrid pushed past them both, stomping down the stairs. The Branagh's watched silently as she picked up one of the dining chairs and smashed it down against the floor with enough force to splinter the leg free. She then picked it up and retraced her steps.  
  
"Now, Mistress Ingrid," Renfield started nervously, "I can't let you –"  
  
Ingrid swung the heavy piece of wood, whacking Renfield full force across the side of his head. He swayed once, twice, before collapsing to the floor.  
  
"I do what I want, insect biter!" Ingrid spat, disappearing up the winding staircase.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Branagh shared a look before shrugging and following her.

* * *

Vlad coughed and spluttered, thrashing his head from side to side. There was blood everywhere, smeared across his face and streaked across his bed covers and the wall above his headboard. Krone grasped his head in one bony hand and held it still, forcing his mouth open and pouring more of Robin's blood down his throat.

"That's it, my boy! Take back that which was taken from you!" The Count cried, trailing one long fingered hand down Robin's throat. The boy's eyes had slid shut, his breathing slowing from the panicked gasps of only minutes ago to scarcely detectable wisps. It was time to carve out his heart…  
  
"Get away from him!"  
  
The Count turned, flashing his game face at Ingrid. Robin, without the support of his hand, slumped to the floor. Mr. Branagh emerged behind her, rushing straight to Robin's side. He pressed his hand to Robin's throat in an attempt to stay the bleeding.  
  
"Elisabeth! Get an ambulance!" He looked up at her, eyes wild. "Quickly!"  
  
Ingrid wielded the chair leg, the end pointed and stake like, at her family, warning them away from the two breathers, and letting Mrs. Branagh disappear back down the stairwell.  
  
"You'll regret this, girl!" The Count hissed at her, one hand resting on Vlad's shoulder, the other touching Magda's waist.  
  
Ingrid raised an eyebrow, watching as Vlad finally stopped struggling, his eyes shutting and his body falling still. "Somehow, I highly doubt it."

* * *

* * *

"How could you be so stupid? How!"

Robin struggled to focus on Chloe, his head feeling as if it were stuffed full of cotton wool. He didn't know what she was talking about.  
  
"Robin, we've been so worried!" His mum appeared as something of a blur behind Chloe's left shoulder.  
  
"You're such a freak, Robin!" That was Paul's voice, he was sure of it.  
  
"Yeah," Ian was there too, "what do you want to try and kill yourself for?"  
  
"Vlad wouldn't want it Robin." His mum added quietly.  
  
He looked down at his hands, at the IV drip jabbed into his right hand and the starched white hospital bed sheets. He tried to speak, needing to know how Vlad was.  
  
"Don't talk, Robin. Your throat can't take it yet."  
  
Robin squinted up, so that other blur was his dad? It made sense. He tried to move, wanting to make them understand what he was trying to ask, but, he couldn't keep his eyes open…

* * *

"Vlad!" The Count wept, his hands stroking at his son's blood stained cheeks. "Oh, Vlad."

Ingrid took a cautious step closer. She had spent the night at the hospital with the Branaghs, convincing them that Robin had slit his own throat in a misguided attempt to be with Vlad; but it was no longer safe now that the sun was streaking the dawn sky pink.  
  
"Where's Mum?"  
  
"Gone. They've all gone. Just," he moved Vlad's arms tenderly, so that they lay crossed over his chest, "like my beautiful boy."  
  
Ingrid sank down to sit at Vlad's other side, looking at him for a long moment before pressing a gentle hand to his forehead. He still felt so warm… She peered at him more closely. His chest was moving slightly; she held a hand over his nose and felt his steady breathing.  
  
"For the love of - Can Branagh do nothing right!"

"It's unheard of."

"He's just doing it to spite me."  
  
"It's his Dracula blood."  
  
"No, it's Branagh's idiocy."  
  
Vlad tried to open his eyes, he could hear his family's voices, but they were muted. Like when he had his head underwater at the swimming pool.  
  
"He's waking up! Come on, Vlad. You can do it!"  
  
"Hurry up Vlad! I've got a hair appointment at six."  
  
Vlad squinted as the light assaulted his senses. He blinked a few times before his sight was, once again, under his own command. He looked up to find The Count and Ingrid peering down at him.  
  
"Vlad, how do you feel?"  
  
"Where's Robin?"  
  
The Count pulled a face. Ingrid answered for him, "He's alright. Might never speak again, but he's alive."  
  
"What!" Vlad pushed himself up with difficulty; he had to see him, right now.  
  
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Vlad. Branagh's like a cockroach, he'd come through anything unscathed."  
  
"But how," Vlad sank back against his pillow, grimacing as he took in the amount of dried blood smeared all over the place, "can we both be alive?"  
  
"You're the Chosen One, Vlad. Untold power is flowing through your veins!" The Count clenched a fist as he spoke, thunder rolling in air outside the castle.  
  
"Oh please." Ingrid sneered. "We've already been through this. You said that Branagh had to have all that glass picked out of his back, right?"  
  
Vlad nodded, remembering the fight in Robin's bedroom. It seemed so long ago.  
  
"Well, the power of the mirror was being carried through his bloodstream. You didn't need his heart, because you were getting your own back when you drank his blood."  
  
Vlad lay quietly for a moment taking it all in. He was being given a second chance. A second chance not to mess up his life. He nodded to himself before catching Ingrid's eye once more. She looked at him expectantly.  
  
"Speaking of blood," Vlad said, belatedly realising what the acrid taste in his mouth was, "Do you think you could fetch me my toothbrush?"

* * *

* * *

Vlad shivered, the flickering strip lighting above his head giving him a headache. He looked down at the floor; there was water everywhere, squelching beneath his bare feet and flowing into the over flow drains.

It wasn't like Robin to be late, he knew how afraid Vlad was of the pool. A thought occurred to him; maybe he was the one who was late. Robin might be waiting for him. Vlad got up from the slatted bench and followed the arrows out of the changing rooms, the smell of chlorine making his head swim. He wondered why it was so quiet; the place was always heaving at the weekends.  
  
Once at the poolside Vlad clung to the railing, panic flooding his senses as he realized there was nobody else there. Nobody but the lone person in the middle of the pool. He looked closer; knuckles whitening around the cold metal, heart thudding in his chest as his name rang out, echoing around the room.  
  
"Vlad! 'elp me!"  
  
It was Robin.  
  
Vlad hesitated, the water was so deep and he could still barely manage doggy paddle. Robin screamed again and he forced himself to let go of the rail, keeping one hand instead on the side of the pool as he lowered himself into the water. Robin was splashing and flailing now, fighting to keep his head above water. Vlad pushed away from the side and thrashed against the water, trying to remember how to kick and breathe at the same time.  
  
"Vlad!"  
  
He was still so far away from him! Vlad coughed and spat as water worked its way down his nose and throat. It felt thick like – he opened his eyes and screamed to see blood. The entire pool was full of blood. It was Robin's he knew with certainty. He lost his stroke and fought desperately to reach the surface. Robin needed him; he couldn't let him down.  
  
"Vlad!"  
  
It was getting harder and harder to move, his movements slow and laboured. He was choking, drowning in blood. He wasn't going to make it…  
  
"Vlad! Stop shrieking like a girl and. Get. Up!"  
  
Vlad woke with a start, sweat trickling down his neck and his heart beating like he'd just run a marathon.  
  
"I need to see Robin."

* * *

"So," Ingrid rifled through the magazines on the bedside table with a sneer of disgust, "what did Branagh taste like?"

"What!" Vlad glared up at her. He clenched Robin's hand a little tighter where it lay limply against the bedspread. The last thing he wanted to think about was the taste of Robin's blood. He inched closer to Robin; the rest of the Branagh clan had gone to get some food, they had been so happy to see him. If they knew the real reason Robin was lying there, paler than death, they'd likely try and kill him themselves.  
  
"I'm just trying to make conversation." Ingrid slid into the seat next to him, eating Robin's grapes. "What?" She asked as he scowled at her, "He's not going to be able to eat them for a while, is he?"  
  
Vlad shook his head and pushed Robin's hair back from his forehead with his free hand. The consultant had been round and explained that Robin would be fine, that the transfusions had been successful and he'd be up and about in no time. Vlad felt like he wouldn't believe it until Robin was actually on his feet and complaining about the fact they didn't make hospital gowns in black.  
  
Ingrid leaned forward in the chair, chin in her hand as she gave Robin an appraising look. "I bet he tasted really sickly, he's always stuffing his face full of sweets."  
  
"Ingrid! Will you stop going on about it! I know that this is a mad concept, but I was actually more concerned with the fact my parents were trying to kill my best friend, than figuring out whether he tasted more sweet than savoury!"  
  
Ingrid gave him a pointed look and Vlad turned round slowly.  
  
"Er, Hi Chloe."

"So," Chloe said slowly a few minutes later, taking Vlad's explanation in, "Robin didn't try and kill himself?"

Vlad shook his head. "Please don't tell anyone Chloe. I'll never get to see him again!"  
  
"You almost didn't anyway," Chloe hissed. "He nearly died."  
  
"I know!" Vlad hissed back, louder than he had intended. It still made him feel sick with fear every time he thought of the way his dad had wrenched Robin from his arms, of the way Robin had slumped, lifeless, to the floor when Ingrid had returned.  
  
Chloe looked at Robin for a long moment before nodding. "You'd better not make me regret this, Vlad."

* * *

* * *

"Now Robin," the woman smiled brightly down at him, "My name's Carys and I'm from the Stokely and District Adolescent Mental Health Team. Do you understand why I'm here to speak to you today?"

Mrs. Branagh squeezed his shoulder and Robin nodded. Because Ingrid had told everyone he was suicidal. He would never have gone along with it were it not for the look of desperation on Vlad's face when his mum had started telling the doctor about it. He supposed that, really, it was the least he owed Vlad.  
  
The relief he had felt at coming round for the second time to find Vlad standing over him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He had clung to Vlad, only letting him go when Paul had got out his camera phone to document them both acting 'like a pair of right girls'. Vlad had been round to see him every day since, doing his best to talk enough for both of them.  
  
Robin relaxed into the chair and sighed, everything with Vlad was still so confusing. He hoped this 'chat' wouldn't last too long.

* * *

Mr. Branagh slid into one of the seats lining the corridor, smiling at the twins and Vlad as he did so. He was starting to think of Vlad as their fifth child, he was spending so much time with them. The boy was at Robin's side every moment he could be and, although he'd never let on he knew, he had seen him clinging to Robin's hand and pressing kisses to his cheek when Robin was asleep.

"Do you think it'll take long?" Ian asked, slumping back into the seat and sighing.  
  
"Nah," said Paul, "they'll take one look at him and know he's a total nut-job."  
  
Mr. Branagh shot them a warning glance and unfolded his newspaper. He had had a quick glance through the office door on his way past, Robin didn't look too upset. They were all on edge waiting for the assessment to be over. It didn't bear thinking about that they might want to keep Robin in much longer. He was even starting to miss his awful metal collection and his sulky face at the breakfast table.  
  
The twins turned their attention to Vlad. "So what is it you see in Freak-boy then?" Paul asked, frowning at the younger boy. Vlad had stopped trying to hide how he felt about Robin, and the twins had done nothing but tease both him and Robin mercilessly all week.  
  
"Yeah," said Ian, "I mean he's not very good looking."  
  
"And he doesn't wash."  
  
Ian screwed up his face, "He smells really bad."  
  
"Haha. Like Mr. Jenkins' jockstrap!" The twins high-fived and Mr. Branagh raised an eyebrow at the pair. Sometimes he worried about both of them.  
  
"He dresses like a total weirdo."  
  
Paul nodded in agreement, "He's got no social skills."  
  
"His face is all sort of mushed up, like one of those little dogs."  
  
"A pug?" Paul offered.  
  
"I dunno. They're really ugly though."  
  
Paul shrugged before carrying on, counting off his last few points on his fingers, "His hair is shocking, he's got no table manners, and –"  
  
Ian finished for him, "he still thinks he's the hottest thing in Stokely!"  
  
Mr. Branagh peered over the top of the newspaper curiously, waiting for Vlad's response.  
  
Vlad pulled his feet up onto the chair, resting his arms on his knees, his face flushing crimson. "I dunno. Just, to me," Vlad met the twins' gaze, a soft smile playing about his lips, "he's perfect."  
  
The twins pulled identical faces of disgust and launched into another detailed expose of Robin's faults. Mr. Branagh stared unseeingly at the paper, Vlad's words ringing in his ears. Only this morning he had laughed off the situation with Elisabeth; he and Robin were both so young, this crush would surely seem like ancient history in a couple of weeks time.  
  
Now - he risked another glance at Vlad who was staring into space, the smile still in place – well; now he wasn't so certain. He suddenly had no doubt that Vlad was entirely serious about what he felt for Robin. The problem was that he highly doubted Robin felt the same way.

* * *

"Well," Mr. Branagh shot him a smile as he slid into the chair next to his bed, "the good news is you're sane. The bad news is the shop was out of Dairy Milk."

Robin grinned as his dad pulled a substitute from his jacket pocket. He quickly unwrapped the proffered Mars Bar - the next best thing - and took a bite. He chanced a furtive glance down at the bed sheets and shook his head slightly in relief; Paul was a dick, he wasn't fat.  
  
"So," he took another bite, "when can I come home?" His voice sounded scratchy and strange, but the doctors said it would be back to normal before he knew it.  
  
"Won't be long now. Couple of days at most."  
  
He nodded, concentrating on chewing. He wondered how many messages he'd have waiting for him on FaceSpace. He had considered getting Ian to check for him but had decided against it. He would only do something stupid like write 'Robin loves Vlad' all over his wall and change his status to 'Robin sucks cock', just like he had last time he had found out his password. The last thing he needed was to give Vlad any extra encouragement; not at the moment at least.  
  
"Robin?"  
  
"Hmm?" He dragged his attention back to the present. His dad was leaning forward in the chair, his expression awkward and embarrassed.  
  
"Have you thought anymore about that little chat we had? About Vlad?"  
  
Robin frowned. He knew what his dad was talking about – as if he had any chance of forgetting – but he didn't understand why he was bringing it up now.  
  
"Because," Mr. Branagh cleared his throat, "Vlad loves you, Robin. And," he sat back up, fidgeting with the magazine in his lap, "I think I'm right in saying that you don't reciprocate it."  
  
Robin just stared at him.  
  
"That is, er, you don't love him back."  
  
"I know what it means!" He snapped. "Vlad knows how I feel." Even as he said it Robin wondered if that were really true. He didn't know he felt himself; how was Vlad supposed to have any idea? He thought back to earlier that morning, waking up to find Vlad clutching his hand, his forehead resting against the mattress next to Robin's shoulder. Vlad had promised him he wouldn't do anything he didn't want him to from now on - which meant that Vlad obviously thought he was perfectly fine with having his hand held.  
  
Robin looked down at his hand and flexed it. He wasn't convinced.  
  
He looked up to find his dad giving him a softer version of his 'I told you so' look. "Talk to him. The longer you leave it, the worse it'll be."

* * *

* * *

"Have you gone blind?"

Vlad shook his head, frowning at Ingrid in confusion.  
  
"Then stop preening in front of that mirror. You can see that you look just as disgusting now as you did five minutes ago."  
  
Vlad blushed and stepped away from the mirror. He was just nervous. Robin was coming home today and he could hardly sit still for excitement. Robin had told him during visiting hours the day before that he wanted to talk to him once he got back. About 'us'.  
  
Us. They were an 'us'. It was almost too amazing for words. Vlad glanced at his watch, 3pm. He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, Robin had to be there by now.  
  
"Ah ah ah," The Count appeared, waving a finger in front of his face and countering Vlad's attempt to side-step him with ease, "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
Vlad pulled his best 'duh' face, "To see Robin, obviously."  
  
"Oh, Vlad," The Count complained, clutching him by the shoulders and forcing Vlad to look at him properly, "What have I told you about playing with your food? Just take him! Why do you have to make everything so difficult for yourself?"  
  
"Let go of me!" Vlad yelled in response, pulling free of his dad's grasp. "You couldn't understand!" He stormed angrily from the castle, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
The Count turned to look at Ingrid, "Was it something I said?"

* * *

"Paul," Mrs. Branagh gave him an exasperated look, "let Robin on the computer. He wants to look at – what was it again Robin?"

"FaceSpace."  
  
"I'll give him face ache in a minute!" Paul grumbled as he got up from the computer desk. Robin smirked at him as he took his place.  
  
Vlad watched the exchange impatiently. How were they supposed to talk in the middle of the Branagh's living room? FaceSpace would still be there after Robin had confessed and he had told him he was making him the happiest teenaged vampire in the world. Still, he supposed he had been waiting well over a year for this moment; another ten minutes wouldn't kill him.  
  
"Awesome!"  
  
Vlad peered over Robin's shoulder at the screen; he couldn't see anything particularly 'awesome'. It was mostly messages from foreign goth girls telling Robin his hair was 'hot' and was he going on 'msn l8r bbz? xoxo'. Vlad scowled, watching as Robin set about replying.  
  
He wondered suddenly if Robin would change his relationship status after they had this talk. He smiled to himself at the thought; they could even take lots of pictures at weird angles, just like Ingrid and Will had spent all their time doing before she became a proper vampire and lost her reflection. Then everyone would know they were together.  
  
Vlad laid a hand on Robin's shoulder and resolved to be patient – he wouldn't have to do it again. If Robin wanted dozens of messages telling him how cute he was then, from now on, he'd be more than happy to oblige.

* * *

"Sorry 'bout that Vlad."

"It's alright." Vlad smiled and dropped down onto Robin's bed. Mrs. Branagh had clearly given the room a good clean whilst Robin had been in hospital, for the first time in Vlad's memory it smelt of fresh air rather than a mixture of Lynx and festering washing. "I knew you'd be itching to get on there."  
  
Robin grinned. "Yeah, well, gotta let them think they 'ave a chance with me, 'aven't I?"  
  
"They should know that someone as," Vlad hooked his fingers in the air, smirking up at Robin happily, sure he wouldn't mind a little teasing about it - even if he hadn't actually come out and said it yet, "'amazingly fit' as you has to be taken."  
  
Robin's grin fell. "Actually Vlad, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully not making eye contact, "I've got to tell you something."  
  
Vlad managed a breathless, "Yes?" Robin looked so adorable when he was nervous. Vlad smiled slightly, as if Robin had any need to be nervous, he'd never turn him down. He could still hardly believe his luck. It had only been weeks since he had been preparing himself to die in Robin's arms. And, now, he had eternity stretched out ahead of him, and Robin apparently wanted to spend it at his side.  
  
"I – ", Robin paused, biting his lip, "this is really difficult for me. I want you to know that I've thought about it properly." He muttered as an undertone, "I 'aven't thought about anything else for days." Out loud he continued, "I know that you lo – like me, Vlad. And," Robin shot him a quick smile that made Vlad's insides squirm with pleasure, "even though it was sort of inevitable, I'm really flattered. I mean really flattered."  
  
"Robin," Vlad shifted closer, no longer able to keep away from the other boy, "you have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that."  
  
Robin met his gaze at last, his dark eyes somber. "Vlad, I 'aven't finished." He drew in a deep breath, "I wish I could feel the same way about you. But," he shook his head, "I can't. I'm sorry."  
  
Vlad stared at him in shock for a moment, struggling to take his words in. It felt like he'd been punched in the gut.  
  
"Vlad, are you alright?"  
  
He nodded dumbly. How could he have been stupid enough to make the same mistake twice! He should leave. Vlad moved to stand up, his body feeling numb and unresponsive. He had scarcely moved before Robin had flung his arms about him, holding him close. Vlad let his head fall against Robin's chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of Robin's T-shirt, struggling – and failing – not to give in to overwhelming urge to cry.  
  
Robin rubbed a hand across his shoulders and spoke quietly,  
  
"It's for the best Vlad. You'll see. A couple of months and you'll wonder what you ever saw in me, and we'll laugh about it. I promise you."  
  
Vlad just clenched his eyes shut and clung tighter. He suddenly understood where his dad was coming from - sometimes, being kind and noble and nice - well, sometimes it really, really, really sucked.

* * *

* * *

[ _Epilogue_ ]

"Robin?" Mrs. Branagh appeared in the doorway, a mug of tea cupped between her hands.  
  
"Aw, what now!"  
  
"Have you offered Vlad a drink yet?"  
  
Vlad smiled as Robin huffed and made a show of getting up from the computer and traipsing out into the kitchen. He tried not to think about the way Robin's hair was curling at the tips, where it was still damp from another afternoon of trying to teach him how to do breaststroke. Nor the way his skin was still tingling where Robin had been leaning against his side, feet resting on top of the computer unit, the keyboard on his lap as he chatted up his latest 'fan'.  
  
Chloe slid into Robin's vacated seat, pulling a face as she took in Robin's FaceSpace page. "You know you're better off out of it, he'd make a rubbish boyfriend."  
  
Vlad shrugged and gave her a half-smile. "Yeah, I know. Doesn't stop me wishing I could find out firsthand though."  
  
"Aw, Vlad," Chloe put a hand on his arm and offered a lop-sided grin of her own, "You'll find someone else. Someone," she raised her voice as Robin re-entered the room, "who doesn't describe himself as 'dark, mysterious and handsome'." She read aloud from Robin's profile in disgust.  
  
"You're just jealous because you only 'ave twelve hits on your page."  
  
"As if, Robin."  
  
"I can tell when you're lying, Chloe. Face it; I'm just way more popular than you."  
  
"Robin!"  
  
Vlad shook his head as the pair of them squabbled, pulling his chair closer to the monitor and reading the line beneath it.  
  
'In my spare time I like to watch horror films, read about vampires – the most awesome things ever! – and hang out with my best friend Vlad.'  
  
It might not be all he wanted but, at least, it was something. And, one day, he was increasingly sure of it, it would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


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